


we'll never be wrong together

by lavenderseaslug



Category: Holby City, The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Because that's what this is, F/F, did you ever want to see some witches in an AU in a hospital?, i won't explain myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 17:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14000649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderseaslug/pseuds/lavenderseaslug
Summary: Hecate Hardbroom, pediatric surgeon, gets called to Holby City Hospital on a consult. She doesn't count on running into an old friend, dressed in scrubs that can only be described as pink.





	we'll never be wrong together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ktlsyrtis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktlsyrtis/gifts).



> my motto is "if you can't be dumber today than you were yesterday, are you even really growing." i hope you all enjoy this fully ridiculous fic!

“Right, here’s your badge, there’s spare scrubs and coats in the locker room. Two floors down, the hallway to your left. Light blue’s for AAU.” Hecate blinks at the human resources manager, looks down at her visiting consultant’s badge, her face looking back up at her with a slightly shocked expression. She’s had worse photos taken. “Off you go.”

Summarily dismissed, Hecate turns on her heel, wonders how on earth she was assigned to a ward where they wear _light blue_. She looks down at her own clothes, black from head to toe, and sighs. It’s just for a few days, she reminds herself, and then she can go back with Ada, back to the buttoned up world of private practice, of wearing a white lab coat over her regular clothes. 

Hecate finds the locker room with ease, finds an unused locker and stows her bag, slips off her shoes. She locates a set of scrubs in the closest size to her own and heads to the loo stalls to change. Just as she closes the door, she catches sight of a woman in deep pink scrubs, her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. _It can’t be_ , she thinks. She would’ve known if Pippa Pentangle was at Holby City Hospital.

She wears a long-sleeved black shirt under the scrub top, keeping her arms covered, helping mitigate the vee of the scrubs. Besides, she can already tell this hospital is over air-conditioned, she already feels a bit of a chill. “AAU,” she mutters to herself. “Ground floor.” She takes the stairs this time, easier going down than up. 

She’s directed to the consultants’ office, where Ms. Campbell and Ms. Wolfe must be, the door closed to prying eyes. She’s about to knock when she hears one of the women say her name and pauses in her movement.

“Hecate?” The judgement is evident in the woman’s voice, tripping over the arcane syllables. “Unusual name. She’ll fit right in with you, _Berenice_.” There’s a soft chuckle. 

“She’s the best pediatric surgeon in the county, if not the country, and we need her for this case,” the other voice - Berenice - says. Hecate feels the involuntary flush, unused to hearing praise, uncomfortable with these words from a stranger, with having a reputation. She knows her own worth and more often than not, it’s enough. She’s never been one to rely on others, for anything. Before either can say another word, she raps on the door with her knuckles, turns the handle when given the word to enter.

“Ms. Hardbroom?” The brunette stands from her desk, pushing the rolling chair back. The other woman, tall and blonde, is in the visitor chairs instead of behind her own desk. “I’m Serena Campbell. We’re so glad you could make the time to be with us.” Her voice is warm, her eyes are bright, and it makes something small bloom inside Hecate’s chest. She wants this woman to like her. 

“Happy enough to go where I’m needed,” she answers, the words coming out terser than she means them to, sees Serena’s eyes flick to the other woman for the briefest moment, and she inwardly winces, always a bit more of a sharp-edge about her than she means to have. Years of cultivating her reputation, her skills have left her socially inept and a bit cold to strangers.

“Bernie Wolfe,” the blonde says, and Hecate shakes her hand too, can’t stop herself from thinking how pretty she is. But she also can’t stop herself from seeing the looks exchanged between these two women, how there’s a crackle of energy between them, and she thinks perhaps there’s a story there. 

“Our patient is coming in for an appointment later today. You’re free to work on the ward today if you like, or you can wait in the coffee shop downstairs. We’re always happy to have extra hands around here.” Serena is a consummate hostess, and Hecate can see that. She gives a tight-lipped smile, decides to help out because it’s better than staring at her hands for an hour or two and over-caffeinating herself. 

Serena offers a tour of the ward, tells Bernie with a significant sort of glance that she needs to stay and finish charting before she can leave the four walls of their office. Bernie only gives Serena shy smile, the apples of her cheeks turning pink, and Hecate wonders if they know they’re in love. 

“Oh, and Bernie?” Serena says, pausing in the door, almost causing Hecate to bump into her, her tall frame lanky and slightly ungainly. “Can you call up to Keller and ask their lead consultant to come down for the appointment too? It’s that new woman...Phyllis? No, Pip...Pippa, that’s it.” 

Hecate feels something snap within her, like a rubber band that’s been held tight for too long, has to expend a great deal of energy in ensuring the muscles in her face don’t belie her surprise, her secret agony. She hasn’t seen Pippa Pentangle since they were F1s, and yet today, somehow, she thinks she’s ended up at the same hospital as her.

“Aye aye,” Bernie says with a mock salute and Serena rolls her eyes, but Hecate can still see her slight blush, the red that creeps up her neck. 

“Used to be an army major, never lets me forget it,” she offers by way of explanation and Hecate just nods.

“Ah, Pippa - who’s she?” Hecate asks, feigning nonchalance, like she’s not on edge, like her nerve endings haven’t flared up, like her brittleness isn’t just covering up her uncertainty. 

“Pippa Pentangle, new consultant up on Keller. One of the best general surgeons I’ve ever seen. We were lucky to get her. She’s got her finger on the pulse as far as technological advancements are concerned, and I wasn’t sure she’d want to come to our little hospital. She said the pink scrubs helped seal the deal. Won’t listen when they tell her they’re maroon.” Serena says this all distractedly as she pages through the files in her hands, like she’s looking for something else, and Hecate is glad she’s not paying any mind to her, clenches her hands into fists, her nails, freshly trimmed, shiny black, dig into her palms.

“She did always like pink,” she says, the words tripping out of her mouth before she can stop them. 

“You know Ms. Pentangle?” Serena asks, finally looking up, her eyes meeting Hecate’s and she feels a jolt of worry, like this is the sort of woman she might not be able to lie to the, the sort she won’t be able to hide anything from.

“ _Knew_ her,” Hecate corrects. “We were medical students together, ages ago.” She tries to banish the memory of a bright pink laptop, of bouncy blonde curls, of a tinkling laugh. She’s kept these thoughts at bay for so long, kept them out of her mind, and now they’re rushing back at her, snippets of days long past that she hasn’t let herself remember for many years.

Late night study sessions in the medical library, bodies pressed closed together as she points out an unfamiliar word, the answer to a question, to snatch the pencil out of Hecate’s hand, laughing until they’re shushed by other students, tense and haughty. She thinks of late nights when they fell asleep over their books, when she’d sleep over, pressed close to Hecate, even in the summer months, their bodies sticky with sweat, the air still and heavy. She thinks of the day they were supposed to present at a conference together, of the night before, when Pippa pressed her lips to Hecate’s and whispered words Hecate thought she was the only one thinking.

Serena’s looking at her a bit oddly, and Hecate wonders how long she’s been inside her own head, just smiles tightly with a small nod, ready to follow Serena around for the tour. She sees the trauma bay, hears the pride in Serena’s voice as she talks about it, talks about all that Bernie’s done. 

But she hears pride, too, when Serena talks about the rest of AAU, thinks Serena has truly made a home of this place, and she feels a little bit of envy. A hospital is a different world from the private practice she and Ada have built. They have a partnership that many are jealous of, and Hecate wouldn’t trade it for the world, but she does find that even this brief layover in the hospital is making her nostalgic for the days as an F1, as a registrar, the bustle and the _life_ to it all. 

“This is quite something,” she says, the admission of a compliment always difficult from her, and Serena even looks a bit surprised to hear it. But it’s true, and Hecate never lies. They’re standing at the nurse’s station and Hecate can see the whole ward, can see how happy the staff is, the way they smile at one another, nurses and doctors all the same. It’s a testament to the atmosphere these two women have built together. 

“How long have you and Ms. Wolfe been together?” she asks, then flushes, because it’s not what she meant to say. “Been working together,” she amends, but she can see the pink blush creeping up from the vee in Serena’s blouse, the slight tinge to her cheeks, and feels all the more certain there’s something between the two AAU consultants, can’t help but feel envious of that as well.

“She’s been here seven months or so,” Serena says in a casual way that Hecate knows means Serena knows the exact day Bernie arrived, how many days, perhaps even to the hour, that Bernie has been at Holby. “She started off just covering on AAU a bit, helping out, but, as it turns out, she’s an invaluable asset and she liked being here just as much.” Serena’s voice is warmer, happier, when she’s talking about Bernie, and Hecate smiles. 

And then freezes, because she sees a flash of pink over Serena’s shoulder, sees the bob of a blonde ponytail. Serena must see the shift in Hecate’s expression, turns to look. “Oh, Ms. Pentangle. Thanks for coming down.” 

Pippa is there, in front of Hecate, brilliant and beaming, her hair just as much like spun gold as ever, her lips painted pink, her eyes dancing. There’s a similarity between Pippa and Serena, a bit, Hecate thinks. “My pleasure,” Pippa says, though she doesn’t take her eyes off Hecate, who fidgets nervously under her gaze.

Not for the first time, she mentally evaluates herself, her tall frame, her limbs lanky. She can’t imagine that this light blue does her pale skin any favors. Her hair is pulled back, tight, out of the way, and she knows more than one nurse has joked that Ms. Hardbroom must have a hard broom stuck up her arse. She purses her red lips, flexes her fingers, and makes herself smile. 

“Good to see you again, Pips-Ms. Pentangle,” Hecate says, cursing herself for almost dropping the nickname she’d given the other woman in their school days, the smallest one in their class, who made a high-pitched noise when Hecate pinched her knee. She hasn’t seen Pippa in years, hasn’t made any effort to talk to her, can’t think she’s welcome to use any sort of familiarity.

“Hecate.” Pippa’s voice is warm, so warm, and it curls around Hecate like a hug, and it feels like perhaps no time has passed between them, like perhaps Pippa isn’t angry, like she doesn’t hate her. She doesn’t know how that could be, has felt the worry of Pippa’s hatred lodged beneath her heart for years. She never saw Pippa’s face on the morning of the conference, the morning they were supposed to present their research, the morning she never showed up. She hasn’t seen Pippa’s face since the night before, the night when she saw Pippa’s face bathed in moonlight, her chin tilted up, waiting to be kissed, wanting to be kissed.

She thinks of that face more than she should.

Serena’s looking between them like a tennis match, but keeps her mouth closed, just a bit of humor in her eyes and it makes Hecate feel wrong-footed, like she’s been caught out at something. She clears her throat after a moment, says they should take time to get reacquainted, points them in the direction of Pulses, she’ll page when their patient arrives. 

Pippa gets a ridiculous sugary drink and a frosted pastry. Hecate gets black coffee. They sit at a table and Hecate can’t think of a single thing to say. “You’ve done well for yourself,” she finally manages. 

“And you,” Pippa says, an indulgent smile as she swipes her finger through the icing, pops it in her mouth, and Hecate can feel her mouth open slightly at the sight, knows her eyes must be huge, has to rein it all in. There’s a smug look on Pippa’s face and Hecate can’t deny her right to feel that way. “You always talked about being a pediatric surgeon, and now you’re one of the best. Not that it’s any surprise. I read your article in the BMJ, on effective early intervention for adult diseases? Groundbreaking research, Hecate. I was impressed.”

Praise comes so easily to Pippa, just falls out of her mouth. Hecate was never that way, never raised to give out compliments for any old thing. She thinks her parents would’ve waited until she cured cancer to tell her they were impressed. But Pippa’s smiling at Hecate, that faint bit of concern that she always has for her lingering around her eyes. 

“You’ve kept up with my career?” she almost chokes out, sipping her coffee almost instantly to hide discomfort, like she hasn’t seen record of Pippa’s incredible surgeries, her almost impossible success rate. She wonders how she missed the fact that Pippa transferred to Holby City. 

“It wasn’t hard, you’re the talk of pediatric medicine, darling.” There it is, the endearment. Hecate flushes a violent red. She doesn’t know what’s between them now, it’s too easy to imagine Pippa sitting across from her at a dining room table, of a gentle caress to her hand, of thanking her for cooking with a “dearest” dropping from her lips. But perhaps it’s just how Pippa is, just plain kind and lovely, and it means nothing at all. 

Both of their pagers sound and without even looking, Hecate knows they’ve got to make their way back to AAU. She waits for Pippa to toss her pastry wrapper and they walk back together, their shoulders almost brushing, though Hecate keeps her frame rigid, holds herself slightly separate. 

*

The consult could’ve gone better, Hecate thinks as she stands outside the doors to AAU. She didn’t have to disagree with Pippa, could’ve supported her surgical plan. But, she reasons with herself, there were things she wasn’t taking into account, like age of the patient, the differing size of the internal organs. So she sniped at her, made a sarcastic comment, had to one-up her. She could’ve been more professional, but was never very good at hiding her reactions to Pippa. She felt regret slice through her when Pippa’s eyes turned sad, her face distant. 

And with the consult finished, the plan in place, Pippa turned on her heel and left without another word. And now Hecate is left alone, leaving Bernie and Serena to their work, heads bowed together over the nurse’s station, standing closer than they need, but so obviously comfortable with one another, happy with one another. 

Hecate sees signs for roof access, takes the stairs two at a time, is out of breath by the time she gets to the top, holds onto the railing as her chest heaves, sucking in massive amounts of air that don’t feel like quite enough. When she’s able to stand, she opens the door to the roof, enjoying the fresh air, can even appreciate the view, though Holby is far from a scenic town. 

There’s someone else on the roof, someone else in those maroon scrubs, and Hecate almost beats a retreat, but a male voice calls out, and Hecate sags with relief that it’s not Pippa, doesn’t think she can face her just yet. “Haven’t seen your face around,” he says when she nears. She stands awkwardly, and he gestures to the stairs below him, encouraging her to take a seat. She does so gingerly, the cold metal going straight through her scrubs.

“Visiting on a consult,” she says. “You’re on,” she racks her brain, “Keller. With Ms. Pentangle?” She apparently cannot be casual about any of this situation, can’t be subtle in the least. The man looks at her appraisingly, but nods. “I’m Hecate Hardbroom.” She waits for the snicker at her name, the joke that she sounds like a Harry Potter character, but it never comes. She supposes working with a Pippa Pentangle day in and out makes one able to resist the urge.

“Dom,” he says simply, holds out his hand. “You know Pippa?” She’s surprised to hear him use her first name, but supposes that’s Pippa’s way, never one to really stand on formality when it’s not needed. 

“We were...friends at school,” she says, fumbling for the right words, doesn’t know how to define their relationship. “And I suppose our reunion today could’ve gone a sight better.” She hopes he doesn’t notice the wistfulness that’s crept into her voice.

“So you’re the reason she came back up to the ward in a bit of a fury,” he says with a smirk. “I thought she was talking about hiccups, but maybe I just misheard. Sounds a bit like Hecate.”

She freezes, the reference to her old nickname terrifying and comforting all at once, that Pippa’s remembered it too, that she’s said it aloud in front of others. “I don’t know that you did,” she says icily, softly, wondering how this conversation ends, wonders if there’s any reason she could be paged away. 

Dom just hums, as if he’s understood something, slotting something into place, and Hecate doesn’t know how she can be so obvious to everyone but Pippa. “You could apologize,” he offers and Hecate sniffs.

“I’m not sure she’ll want to see me,” she says carefully, because she can’t imagine that she’s a person Pippa ever really _wants_ to see.

“Oh, I simply cannot take another useless lesbian standing up here on the roof bemoaning the fact that she’s not sure if the love of her life loves her back. _Talk to her_ ,” Dom orders with no small amount of exaggeration, rolls his eyes and waves her away. Hecate stands abruptly, the words hitting her harder than she might’ve expected. _The love of her life_. That rolls around in her head, in her heart. 

She doesn’t go down to Keller, takes the lift straight to AAU instead, spends the rest of the day as an extra set of hands, watches Bernie and Serena work together, an amazing thing to see, a wordless communication made up of long stares and hands touching that seems almost magical. 

At the end of the day, she watches them walk to the elevator, Serena’s fingers brushing against Bernie’s, their hands just clasping, mostly hidden in the folds of their coats, but there’s something so soft and safe about it that it makes Hecate’s heart feel like bursting, with envy or with joy, she’s not quite sure. 

“We’re going to Albie’s,” Serena calls over her shoulder, “and you’re coming too. Bernie’s buying.” There’s a laugh, a sort of strangled guffaw, and Bernie pushes Serena’s arm with her own, all smiles as the doors to the elevator close.

She saw Albie’s on her way in, just down the street. So she goes to the locker room, pulls on her black stockings, her black skirt, slips out of the trainers she wore on the ward, back into the heels she favors for work at the practice. She hears the mocking voice of her medical school peers, asking if she’s dressing for a funeral, but brushes at her hairline, tries to pretend the taunts don’t haunt her, after all these years. She even takes the time to touch up her lipstick, her eyeliner, tries to tell herself that it’s just because she wants to look nice, not because Pippa might be there.

There’s a glass of wine waiting for her, deep and red, and an empty chair next to Bernie. She feels like she’s been adopted by them, is grateful to have friendly faces in a sea of strangers, never quite comfortable in social situations, always a bit removed. Though the chair is low and soft, Hecate can’t help but sit ramrod straight, her posture always perfect, like she’s balancing books on her head. 

“How did today go for you?” Bernie asks. She’s quieter than Serena, more reserved, but there’s still a well of kindness in her dark eyes. Hecate feels like there’s a kindred spirit there, some part of her recognizing a bit of herself in the trauma surgeon. If she had to guess, she’d suspect Bernie was the one going up to the roof for pep talks from Dom, the one who just couldn’t see the love in front of her, not willing to believe she deserved it. 

She arranges her face in a smile, something that always feels foreign on her face, makes her uncomfortable. “It was a good change of pace,” she says, as much as she can really express about her time at the hospital. She likes it well enough, doesn’t know if she could go back to it in the day to day. 

“Bit rougher than where you are with Ada, I’d wager,” Bernie says and Hecate nods, sipping at her wine. “Hope shiraz is all right with you - it’s Serena’s litmus test for all the new ones. If you don’t like it, you won’t be invited back to her table, and that’s just a warning from me to you.” Her face breaks into a smile, her thin lips wide, and it illuminates her whole face, and Hecate sees how pretty she is, how incandescent. Bernie’s eyes flit to Serena, and she can see the love in Bernie’s eyes, how obvious, how evident. 

She’s still staring when she feels someone sit next to her, sees pink out of the corner of her eye, steels herself because she knows it’s Pippa. “Anyone sitting here?” her prim voice asks, though she doesn’t look as though she’d move if the answer was yes. 

Hecate shakes her head and turns to look at Pippa, her breath catching as she takes in the full effect, Pippa’s loose pink button-up, her tight jeans, her hair down, falling about her face in loose curls. She looks like a doll, like an angel, like some sort of perfect untouchable thing and Hecate feels shriveled in her presence. 

Bernie nods hello to Pippa, then turns, leaving Hecate with no one to talk to but Pippa, no shield between them. Pippa drinks from her glass of pink liquid, bubbling, with a small umbrella stuck in a wedge of lime. Always the same, Hecate thinks. 

Conversation is stilted, awkward, and Hecate just desperately wants it to be different, to be something else. She manages a half apology for undermining Pippa in front of a patient and is rewarded with a smile, with dancing eyes. 

She takes it for the victory it is, thinks she should leave while she’s still on top, before she manages to hurt Pippa again. Making her excuses, she stands, reassures Bernie and Serena she’ll be in promptly in the morning, ready for surgery. Pippa stands with her, walks her to the door, kisses her cheek for a long moment, and Hecate knows there’s a pink imprint left behind, her fingers going up to caress it, not to wipe it away. 

*

Pippa scrubs in with Hecate, not a complete surprise, though a little unexpected. She was expecting Serena next to her in the scrub room. 

“She was happy enough to cede her spot to me,” Pippa says. “Ms. Campbell saw I had special interest in the case.” Hecate isn’t quite sure what that means, but trusts Pippa’s skill enough, trusts Pippa enough, that she’s not worried about the surgery in the least. 

She ties a green scrub cap around her hair, pulled into a low bun instead of the usual one on top of her head. Her fingers fumble a little and Pippa is there to help, their fingers touching gently, her breath soft against her neck, stirring the fine hairs there. Hecate clears her throat, steps away from Pippa to the sink, starts to wash her hands, knows her cheeks are bright, doesn’t want to risk looking at Pippa’s face, doesn’t know what she’ll see. 

Surgery with Pippa is...it’s easy. She’s there with suction, there with sutures, just there. She anticipates Hecate’s needs, offers gentle suggestions in her calm voice, and Hecate thinks she can feel something easing from around her heart as they go. Though she’s focused, she can feel Pippa’s gaze on her, blushes under the attention, though she’s learned enough control that it doesn’t affect her hands, the procedure. 

It’s a successful surgery, and Hecate feels the bloom of a good outcome flowing over her like a hot shower on a cold day. Pippa stands next to her, so close, as they wash their hands, dispose of their surgical gowns, catches her fingers before Hecate can leave. 

“You’ve always been so talented. The best in our year.” Pippa’s voice is serious and she’s looking at Hecate’s hand, turning it over between her own, touching her long fingers with something like reverence. Hecate is surprised at the admission, something they’d always fought over, even more surprised at this brazen touch, at this study of her palms. 

She feels something like a sob lodging itself in her throat, an emotion she can’t quite place, something like relief, or sadness, she’s not quite sure. So she just pulls her hand away, leaves the quiet, small room without another look behind her, and goes straight to the roof.

Hecate feels relieved when she doesn’t see anyone else, glad to have this expanse to herself. It’s cold, but she revels in it, feeling it so intensely that it drowns everything else out. She rubs at her arms futilely, but lets the air wash over her, closes her eyes, blinks away the tears that form at the breeze. Some strands of hair have escaped from the low bun and whip around her face, making her feel a bit wild. 

She only opens her eyes when she hears the door to the roof bang closed, feels certain she’s going to see Pippa striding towards her, finds she’s correct in that assumption as maroon scrubs march towards her. 

“You’re always _leaving_ , Hecate,” Pippa says, and for the first time, she thinks she can hear anger in Pippa’s voice. Hecate wants to hold her, wants to explain, but feels stoppered up, holds her hands stiffly at her sides instead. The wind almost whips away Pippa’s small question, one word: “Why?”

It’s an expansive question, one with so many answers. But Hecate wants to tell the truth, wants to be the person that Pippa deserves. Pippa, who is brave enough to follow her, brave enough to ask the question, to say the things, to be the person Hecate has only ever thought about in the deepness of the night. 

“I’m scared,” she admits, surprising herself with the honesty, with the bluntness. But Pippa comes up beside her, gentle, sure, stands close enough that they’re touching. Her hand touches Hecate’s cheek, turns her face towards her, looks up at her with clear eyes that are so full of something Hecate’s afraid to name.

“Of what, darling?” she asks, and Hecate thinks she can feel tears welling up, because of this person in front of her, because of all the things she’s afraid of racing to escape out of her, like some sort of Pandora’s box of her fears.

Pippa seems to understand, to know. She moves so she’s standing in front of Hecate, her hand never moving from her face, her other one coming up, warming Hecate’s cheeks. “Of this?” she asks, and Hecate can only nod. “Oh, Hiccup,” she says and it’s all too much then, and Hecate feels a tear spill out, hot on her skin. She wants to wrest from Pippa’s touch, to hide her face, but Pippa is firm, steady, and she can’t turn away. She feels Pippa’s lips, so soft, against the wet trail left behind by the tear, her thumb wiping the droplet away. 

And then Pippa’s lips are on her own and it’s everything like what she remembers from all those years ago and nothing like it all at once. Pippa’s mouth moves, her tongue slides into Hecate’s mouth, and it’s like she’s discovered a new world, like she’s found a previously untold treasure. 

She doesn’t know how long they kiss, but she knows what Pippa’s lips feel like on her jaw, on her neck, under the thin fabric of her scrubs. She feels a heat thrum through her body, pooling in her belly. She tangles her hands in Pippa’s hair, mussing it, and always one to give as good as she gets, Pippa looses her dark hair from the low bun and her wild curls wrap around them both. 

Hecate doesn’t think this will fix everything, doesn’t know that they’ve solved all their problems. She just knows that in this moment, things feel right, they feel good. She thinks Pippa’s imbued her with some of that bravery, thinks she could fly right now, as long as Pippa’s beside her. Pippa presses another kiss to Hecate’s lips, the pink almost gone from her own, and Hecate can only smile. They leave the roof with promises of dinner, of a shared evening tonight, of many shared evenings in the future, and Hecate can’t stop the blush, the frisson of excitement, doesn’t bother to hide it this time.

They walk down to AAU together, standing too close, Hecate thinks, though she doesn’t move away, content enough to feel Pippa’s warmth beside her. As they step out of the stairwell, Hecate can see the two consultants in their office watching them, thinks she can see a smug expression on Serena’s face, can see her turn to Bernie, saying something that looks awfully like “I told you so.”

 


End file.
